“Yes, but what of it? That’s not
only to my discredit, but to theirs too. They
feed me and take off their caps to me, so it seems
they have not the intelligence and honesty to do otherwise.
I don’t blame or praise any one: I only
mean that the upper class and the lower are as bad
as one another. My feelings and my intelligence
are opposed to both, but my tastes lie more in the
direction of the former. Well, now for the evils
of marriage,” Orlov went on, glancing at his
watch. “It’s high time for you to
understand that there are no evils in the system itself;
what is the matter is that you don’t know yourselves
what you want from marriage. What is it you want?
In legal and illegal cohabitation, in every sort of
union and cohabitation, good or bad, the underlying
reality is the same. You ladies live for that
underlying reality alone: for you it’s everything;
your existence would have no meaning for you without
it. You want nothing but that, and you get it;
but since you’ve taken to reading novels you
are ashamed of it: you rush from pillar to post,
you recklessly change your men, and to justify this
turmoil you have begun talking of the evils of marriage.
So long as you can’t and won’t renounce
what underlies it all, your chief foe, your devil
—­so long as you serve that slavishly, what
use is there in discussing the matter seriously?
Everything you may say to me will be falsity and affectation.
I shall not believe you.”

I went to find out from the hall porter whether the
sledge was at the door, and when I came back I found
it had become a quarrel. As sailors say, a squall
had blown up.

“I see you want to shock me by your cynicism
today,” said Zinaida Fyodorovna, walking about
the drawing-room in great emotion. “It
revolts me to listen to you. I am pure before
God and man, and have nothing to repent of. I
left my husband and came to you, and am proud of it.
I swear, on my honour, I am proud of it!”

“Well, that’s all right, then!”

“If you are a decent, honest man, you, too,
ought to be proud of what I did. It raises you
and me above thousands of people who would like to
do as we have done, but do not venture through cowardice
or petty prudence. But you are not a decent man.
You are afraid of freedom, and you mock the promptings
of genuine feeling, from fear that some ignoramus
may suspect you of being sincere. You are afraid
to show me to your friends; there’s no greater
infliction for you than to go about with me in the
street. . . . Isn’t that true? Why
haven’t you introduced me to your father or your
cousin all this time? Why is it? No, I am
sick of it at last,” cried Zinaida Fyodorovna,
stamping. “I demand what is mine by right.
You must present me to your father.”

“If you want to know him, go and present yourself.
He receives visitors every morning from ten till half-past.”

“How base you are!” said Zinaida Fyodorovna,
wringing her hands in despair. “Even if
you are not sincere, and are not saying what you think,
I might hate you for your cruelty. Oh, how base
you are!”